


although tomorrow i know the sun is rising

by gatsbyparty



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Moirallegiance, Other, a rubbish gift, self-indulgent pale shipping valentine's day gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatsbyparty/pseuds/gatsbyparty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some time in the future, but not much, Dirk and Roxy spend Valentine's Day together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	although tomorrow i know the sun is rising

**Author's Note:**

> This was a Valentine's Day gift for tumblr user cannoliozoli; I promised her a porn fic with no other details and it turned into this awful maudlin rambling mess, which in the end, was not even remotely pornographic. There's nothing approaching sex here.  
> Also it's some sort of weird universe where the rules are basically, uh, whatever I decided at that exact moment? who knows. I am a wild and crazy girl.

_Oh it's a dirty old shame,_

_When all you get from love is a love song,_

_That's got you layin' up nights,_

_Just waitin' for the music to start._

_-All You Get From Love Is a Love Song_ , Carpenters

 

This is what you have to look forward to today: spending twenty-four hours with the girl who is apparently your genetic twin and who has promised not a single salted rim will besmear her scarlet lipstick, figuring out how to keep your eternally hungry little brother from eating the heart stickers on his sunglasses, and making pancakes, because seriously how the fuck do griddles work, you're a child prodigy, not fucking Gordon Ramsey.

 

You're spending Valentine's Day with your sister and two babies the two of you found just over a year ago under highly suspicious circumstances and have raised this long with many frantic pesters and phone calls. This puts you about one level higher than a pocket protected, suspender wearing chump spending the day with his dog on the lame-ass meter. It's gonna be fucking great.

 

Roxy lets herself into your apartment at precisely seven a.m. You know this because she wakes you up at seven-oh-one with a haymaker to the stomach and a, "Wake up, speep-sleeping beauty!" shrieked directly into your left ear. By the time you've sat up at seven-oh-three she is long gone to the kitchen and making a terrible racket. You stagger after her precisely two minutes later to find her holding Dave like a football, Rose upside-down in the other arm, and the table knocked over. This is less destruction than she's usually managed by now.

 

"Help," she says. "They're ooting-eating each other."

 

"Cannibal babies," you say, rescuing Dave from her inept grip, spend a few seconds checking him over, stick him in the high chair instead of figuring out where to hold him so he can't reach your bangs. "All the rage these days among unemployed minors. Why are you holding her like that, for Christs' sake, Roxy, give her here before you make her stupid."

 

Roxy sticks her tongue out and puts rose on the floor isntead, where she sort of scoots and wobbles until she's sitting up and staring at you. What is it with you kids and technicolor eyes, seriosuly, frolicking-in-a-field-of-lilacs-purple and rusty-redneck-pickup-truck-under-the-noontime-sun-red and sunflowers-and-corn-gold and, like, Roxy's fucking Disney-girl-moe-shine-dry-nail-polish-fuschia. Stupid. You push your shades up into your hair and stretch. 

 

"Spoken to Jake or Jane yet? I'm assuming you've been up all night chanting devotions to your dark undersea demonlord, but you might have found a moment or two to speak to our only other friends. That's so sad."

 

"Jane, real quick. She said mornink-morning. They're spond-spending the day together, I guess, wink wonk," Roxy says with a shrug, looking back over her shoulder so you know that last mess-up was intentional, "She's a little offronded that I didn't send her a card."

 

You ruffle her hair, already spiky with the remnants of yetserday's mousse and sleep. "I doubt she's actually offended," you say, stressing the _offended_ , it's like teaching a toddler, "In her defense, you thought it was an excellent idea to send her an entire thumb drive of Alvin and the Chipmunks porn."

 

"It was!" Roxy snickers, rustling through the fridge. She pulls out the pancake batter, peels off the saran wrap, and licks the downside. She actually grimaces at the taste. 

 

"This is nos-nasty."

"Dave knocked salt into it," you say, looking at the little man in question. He tilts his head sideways, well-chewed shades clattering off his face and onto the highchair's tray. He squawks at the sound.

 

"Cute little fucker, ain't he," Roxy says, turning to pinch Dave's cheek. His eyes, big red irises and teenage girl long eyelashes, flicker between the crazy bat in front of him and the cool dude lifting himself onto the counter.

"Fuck," he chirps, looking at you suspiciously, like he doesn't know how to expect you to react. You just lift your eyebrows at him. 

 

"He's only ever said one thing longer than a word, and that was 'bag of tits'."

 

Roxy looks faintly affronted and returns to the batter, pouring it into a skillet and completely disregarding the griddle. She then proceeds to not actually turn on the stove, hoist herself up beside you, and rest her head on your shoulder. You've got nearly the exact same hair color.

 

"Still can't believe you named him after your brother. So weird," she says, staring at the toddler in questions, who is once again trying to eat the stickers with some success. You snort. Rose jumps.

 

"You named Rose after you dead mother. Poor little baby, your mama is fucking weird," you coo to Rose. She's managed to crawl to the doorway but she's still perplexed by the baby gate. 

 

"My mother's name was Rosa," Roxy corrects.

 

"Literally almost the same name."

 

"Is fucking not!"

 

The two of you swing you legs like five year olds, tangling them together at the ankles. You catch her left hand in your right, considering how long and thin her fingers are against your tree trunk hands. From here, with the curls of her hair almost in your eye socket, you can see the sweep of her blonde eyelashes and her snub nose and the bright red of her mouth like Dave's eyes; the boy-flat chest swimming in her baggy shirt and legs almost as long as yours even though you're practically a giant compared to her, a giraffe and a gazelle. Her shoulder knifes into your upper arm.

 

"Happy Valentine's," she says eventually. 

 

"Yeah," you say and swallow hard. You're together with the wrong people.

Rose is pulling on your toes. You dislodge Roxy reaching down to pull the toddler into your lap.

 

"Don't do that, baby. Don't. Stop it. I'm warning you, Rosita, do not go for the glasses. Nope. Roxy, she's wiping her nose on me."

 

"Sucks!" she says tightly. 

 

You ignore her to focus on Rose's bright purple eyes. Stupid. None of you ever got any love in your childhoods but things are going to be different for these guys. You can feel it. Rose boops you on the nose. 

 

"Look, we're fine," Roxy says after nearly ten minutes of you and Rose staring at each other. "Ain't two fine bitches going to make a baby that cute anyway. It works out. She's a little me, almost."

 

"Yeah," you say, smoothing Rose's hair. "Two men can't make a baby, nevermind one with devil red eyes, right?"

 

You stand, moving Rose to your hip, and lean over Dave so you're looking into two completely identical baby faces. 

 

"Give my love to Rose, please, won't you, mister?" you quote. "Tell my boy his daddy's so proud of him."

 

You've been having dreams again, where you go back to the golden towers of Prospit and fling them down like threads, and you see Dave: thirteen, scared, frighteningly intelligent and messed up because of you. You _die_  and he never knows you're proud. That ain't right.

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT WAS THAT ANYWAY


End file.
